


I Move The Stars For No One

by Ryxl



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Short, sentient Labyrinth, young Jareth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryxl/pseuds/Ryxl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short piece exploring a distant beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Move The Stars For No One

Things were not going well for Jareth.

It had been a very long time since the fae had cast him into the small realm that was their oubliette with the mocking assurance that he would be king over all he saw, and all he saw would be his to command. Upon arriving in the barren, sterile realm, however, he had taken them at their word. Instead of giving in to despair, he had forced the empty wasteland of sand and rock to answer his command, and built a castle. A very large and splendid castle, since he had little else to do with his time. When the next overly-ambitious fae was exiled and arrived in his private kingdom, Jareth was excited to have some company at last, and forgot what kind of fae would have been sent to die of despair.

The newcomer had been duly impressed with the lavish castle that stood where he had expected only sand, and was only too happy to be led on a tour. When they reached the throne room, however, the newcomer had drawn his sword and announced that he thought _he_ should be king. He was trained in the art of war; Jareth was not, and he quickly found himself in the unenviable position of being prone with a sword descending towards his throat.

“Stop!” he commanded, panicked, his magic not focused enough to truly enforce his will on his unruly subject.

The sword did not stop.

I flexed my will. The sword – and the man holding it – turned to stone. Living stone, aware of what was transpiring, since life can neither be created from nothing nor snuffed out without that spark going elsewhere.

For several trembling breaths Jareth cringed beneath the stone blade, bleeding out sheer terror until he had enough control to reach out and force the stone to crumble into gravel. Still aware, the would-be usurper screamed in silent agony as his body was brutally, methodically battered into bits no larger than a pea. Finally, the pain became too great to bear and he willed himself to die. I gathered his life’s energy, unwilling to have it join my greater whole, and watched as Jareth staggered off to curl up, shaking, in his bed. Although I had no heart but his to race, no limbs to tremble, I was just as distraught as he was. My precious flower, the only one to bloom in my inhospitable garden, had nearly been destroyed, and why? Because a man had come and thought Jareth weak, thought he could take what was not given to him.

I would not have it.

While my flower slept in his comfortable room, I spun the invader’s life force into walls. Not straight ones, no. These twisted and turned, with cul-de-sacs and false ends, paths that led nowhere. I left a generous no-man’s land between the castle walls and the edge of this labyrinth, and made certain that no path actually led into it.

Jareth had been sent to me as a king in exile, with command over all he saw. If the Courts had not seen fit to so inform any they sent to his realm – to me – then I would be certain that it was impressed firmly upon them when they arrived. No one would enter the castle unless it was by his will.

When he awoke, he prowled to the window as if he knew what I had done – or had intended to do the same. Many minutes he spent there, unmoving, eyes wandering over the false paths even as his magic reached out to confirm that the walls did not open to allow anyone out until he willed it. Finally, he nodded once and said, “Good.”

As he turned away, he was smiling.

*******************************************

For months after the maze had sprung up overnight, Jareth had tested how his realm responded to his unspoken wishes. That there was another entity in here with him, he'd no doubt - someone, or something, was leaping to obey him without his needing to actually flex his will. Many tests had been performed, and he finally felt ready for a confrontation.

Satisfied, Jareth smirked from the balcony against which he was leaning and turned from surveying his realm. With the intent to find a quiet courtyard – not that his sterile kingdom was anything _but_ quiet – firmly in mind, he strolled down the curving stairs and through the first door that offered itself. As he’d desired, it led to a small, round area tucked between walls and towers with the mutable sun shining directly overhead. A stone bench lay along one curve, just right for lounging, while a small fountain gurgled quietly in the center. He arranged his long limbs on the bench, face upturned to the sun and eyes closed, focusing upon his desire. When he opened them and directed his gaze to the opposite curve of wall, it was graced by a mosaic of a woman. Her age indeterminate, she stood with bowed head and clasped hands, her fine gown flowing down to pool on the floor.

“I thought so,” he murmured.

The woman in the mosaic did not respond.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, curious to see what would happen.

The mosaic did not so much change as another image was added – himself, seen from behind, hands on his hips as he gazed at the barren sand of the realm he’d been…given.

Jareth’s eyebrows lifted. “From the beginning? Interesting. And what do you think about all of this?”

The fountain ceased its gurgling. When he looked at it, the statue had become the woman from the mosaic, kneeling with her arms tenderly clasped around a boy that bore a striking resemblance to him. He stared at it for a very long minute.

“What were you before I came here?” he whispered.

When he raised his eyes to the mosaic again, the oddly-enclosed image of barren sand was still there, but he was gone from it. Shaken, he licked his lips in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture.

“What do you want?”

This time, the mosaic shifted to a fresco. Jareth stood and crossed the courtyard to kneel by the wall and examine the details that tile couldn’t produce. The figure of the woman was still there, but her dress had somehow become the castle he’d built out of nothing, rising above the uninhabited city that surrounded it, and where before there had been only pooled cloth there was now a labyrinth in the folds and crevices. Tiny figures populated everything – trees and flowers and birds and creatures of all shapes and sizes. Slowly, his eyes climbed to the tallest tower where an impossibly detailed figure stood, and his breath caught. It was him, unsurprisingly, but he was…smiling. Happy. Content. Only then did he notice that the top of the tower – and his tiny, smiling image – were cradled between the shapes of the woman’s clasped hands. Choked by emotions too tangled to name, he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, forehead pressed against grainy stone and one hand spread gently over her painted ones.

“It was you,” he breathed at last. “You created the labyrinth to keep me safe. How many did you watch die of despair on your sands until I came, determined to make the best of my situation?”

The light of the mutable sun faded. Hesitantly, Jareth opened his eyes and turned his face to the sky. Although he had long ago commanded that it be night when he wished to sleep, he had never bothered to adorn the sky with stars. But now…now, they twinkled back at him, countless. Each one, no doubt, represented a fae man or woman who had been tossed into this realm, the oubliette of the Courts, and willed him or herself to death. Only he, it seemed, had tried to impose his will on his bleak surroundings. No wonder the realm had protected him.

“I command you,” he said slowly. “That’s the way things work. I command, and you are forced to obey. But you do as I will, not because I command you, but because you want me to be happy.” He stood, one hand still touching the wall, and forced himself to look at the reminder of all those who had come before him. “I owe you my life. That is not a debt to be repaid lightly.” The hand not caressing stone pointed imperiously at the sky. “Keep the stars. I want to be reminded of how long you waited for me.”


End file.
